The Clique: The Prequel
by xoxodaniella
Summary: Claire Lyons before Westchester...After getting kicked out of Queen B's clique because of a boy , she has no choice but to befriend LBRS. Will the friendship change her for the better? Or will she find a way to get back in the reigning clique? R&R!
1. Preview

**Preview**

Brooke Monroe: The queen of Monroe Middle School—literally. Her daddy dearest is the principal, and Brooke rules the sixth grade with iron nails. She's the one you love to hate. She's the one who can make your life miserable. She's the one who gets everything—and everyone—she wants. So what happens when she can't get Jared Chauncey?

Jacqui du Croix: Brook's flirty second-in-command, who secretly likes Jared Chauncey. So when Brooke kicks Claire out of their clique because of Jared, Jacqui is faced with two choices: get rid of the Wicked Bitch of the East Coast for once and for all with Claire, or to get rid of the Wicked Bitch of the East Coast for once and for all with Claire. Hehe. This is gonna be easy, _Brooksie_.

Claire Lyons: Is totally in love with Jared Chauncey. Her life couldn't be more perfect…until Brooke kicks her out of the circle of trust. She's forced to start out on her own without _any_ designer clothes from Brooke. Plus, all her new lame-o friends are—gasp!— style-blind. Will Claire learn that there is more than meets the eye, or will she die from disgust first?

Elizabeth Lai: Claire's replacement! Sure, she has some ah-nnoying habits that Brooke is determined to break, but she's a perfect girl for Brooke's circle. _Read: she's perfectly_ _bitchy_. So when she starts flirting with Jared, will she go the same way as Claire?

**Hehe. This is a prequel! Tell me what you think, everyone.**

**-D**


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: Hey. I'll be sure to update as much as I can over the break.**

**Be sure to tell me: should I include product descriptions? I mean, the Clique books do, and this is a fanfic, so you're obviously expecting product descriptions. But I want to keep it to a minimum. I mean, puh-lease. This isn't a J. Crew catalogue…or in this case, a Coach + Bloomingdale's catalogue. You'll get it when you read it. ;)**

**- D**

It was a typical Florida day: hot and humid. Alligators crawled out of the pond across the street from Monroe Middle School, basking in the warm noon sunlight. Birds flew away from their nearby perches, determined not to be brunch for the familiar sunbathers.

Inside Monroe Middle School, Room 256, actually, Claire Lyons and Jared Chauncey weren't paying attention to Mrs. Sullivan.

Claire felt goosebumps that were definitely not from the air conditioning rise on her arms. She giggled softly as Jared subtly passed her a brown gift bag from Bloomingdale's.

Claire fluttered her eyelashes the way Jacqui du Croix had taught her, and gave him a flirty thank-you smile. She pushed the bag under her seat with the Coach high-tops borrowed from Brooke.

"Ms. Lyons, Mr. Chauncey, is there anything you'd like to share with the class?" A wheezy voice barked. It belonged to Mrs. Sullivan, their creepy Home Economics teacher. Her jowls quivered, and she sent them both death glares from behind the horn-rimmed glasses that were ten times too big for her face.

"No, Ma'am," the two replied in unison.

Jared cursed himself. Okay, so he hadn't been that subtle when he passed Claire the bag.

Claire smirked inwardly. "Ma'am" reeked of old lady.

Mrs. Sullivan glared at the two for a few extra moments, deciding not to risk a second interruption from the troublemakers.

Not knowing what to do when a class of gossipy middle-schoolers stares and whispers, Claire picked up her knitting needles again. Jared followed suit.

Mrs. Sullivan making a _tsk_-ing sound and continued the painful knitting session.

"Where was I before I was rudely interrupted? Oh, yes, purl stitch…"

Claire paid for her lunch and walked to the square lunch table where Brooke Monroe (aka Queen B) held court. It was right smack in the middle of the noisy cafeteria, the ultimate place to see and be seen. Unfortunately, that would soon be a disadvantage to Claire.

She approached the laminate table, her plastic lunch tray in hand. But she didn't sit down. There was already someone in her seat.

The offender had shampoo commercial-worthy black hair. And by the looks of it, she had been able to engage Brooke and Jacqui in a very interesting conversation, something Claire Lyons routinely failed at.

"Brooke, why is she in my seat?" Claire demanded.

The stranger turned around. She had pale bone china skin, and snub nose, and symmetrical features. "I'm new. Brooke offered to show me around. Hope you don't mind." A devious smirk played on her bubblegum-pink lips, and an intimidating stare was in the girl's stormy gray-green eyes.

Claire couldn't help but stare. The girl was unfriendly, but she was striking. Claire guessed what she was thinking: _You're pathetic. Stop staring, freak._

Claire jerked her head away, and rested her gaze on Brooke.

"Elizabeth came from L.A. Her dad's Jordan Lai. You know, the famous Hollywood director? He's filming a new movie in Orlando." Brooke popped a yogurt-covered pretzel in her cherry-chapstick colored, Julia Roberts mouth. Brooke couldn't downplay her excitement. Her peacock-blue eyes were filled with rare admiration.

"That doesn't answer my question. Why is she in my seat?" Claire asked again. "Can't she move _there_?" She tapped the extra chair at their table with a chewed-on nail.

The extra chair was what wannabes and Z-Listers felt free to borrow time to time when the cafeteria got crowded.

Brooke looked amused. "Why can't _you_ sit there?"

Claire gasped as an uncomfortable silence fell at their neighboring tables. "I can't. That's the extra seat for the wannabes."

Brooke cocked her head, made a fist, and put it over her mouth. She studied Claire before replying, "What's the difference between you and them?"

Jacqui, Brooke's best friend, loudmouth, and flirt, widened her eyes.

Claire's jaw dropped. "I—I…"

Elizabeth smiled, indulging in Claire's defeat. "Toughie-wuffy," she cooed in a little baby voice.

Eyes filled with tears, Claire plopped down in the extra chair Jacqui had pulled out from the table. At least, she tried to.

"Ow!" Claire's welled-up tears rushed forward as she landed, butt first, on the linoleum floor.

"Sorry! I need chair!" Yelena Curkovich yelled, before she scurried away with the stolen seat.

No one helped Claire up. Not Brooke, nor Jacqui, definitely not Elizabeth. The cafeteria laughed and laughed as Claire cried on the floor.

_Pathetic. Pathetic._

_Freak. Freak._

_Stop—Stop staring._

_Stop staring, freak._

_What's—What's_

_What's the difference?_

_What's—between you and_

_And_

_Them?_

These words repeated over and over in Claire's head like a broken record.

**Review, please! I'm not afraid of constructive criticism, either!**

**- D**


	3. Author's Note

I'll update, but I need reviews

**I'll update, but I need reviews! I'm thinking about 12 reviews to continue. The sooner I hit 12, the sooner I'll update… **

**Constructive criticism is also welcome. I'm trying to reduce the number of typos I have…but typos are because I type fast!**

**- D**


	4. Chapter Two

A/N: I don't own the idea of a "red card"

**A/N: I told you I'd update with 12 reviews, and I did! This is a filler, I think, because I want you to get acquainted with the character personalities. **

**Most of it here is dialogue.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the idea of a "red card". A "red card" is the property of the manga series Hana Yori Dango, which translates to Boys Over Flowers.**

Brooke Monroe stuck her head around the wall. The polished cherry banquet table was spotless. Each tennis-ball sized Swarovski crystal on the flashy chandelier was sparkling at its brightest.

The herringbone place mats, the silver (wrapped in fine Irish linen), and the wine glasses had already been set. The floral centerpiece was well-cut, carefully accented with silk and lace.

Brooke's parents were impeccably dressed, waiting in the parlor and reading the evening newspaper.

The only thing missing was the guests. And if as right on cue, the doorbell rang. One of the maids rushed to get it.

There was Mr. and Mrs. Chauncey, him dressed in a spiffy suit, her in a glittering black dress with a matching silk wrap. The navy blue sky was a dramatic backdrop for the couple.

"Jared's going to be here soon," they informed their hosts. "He's gone out."

And after Greta had poured the best Bordeaux red wine, and everyone was through the appetizer (foie gras and truffles), the doorbell rang. It was Jared. He hadn't bothered to change out of his school clothes—a purple (Yes, purple. It was a girl color, but Jared could pull it off.) Element logo tee, black Krew skinny jeans, and blue-and-black Nike Air Force Ones.

"Sorry. Took longer than I expected." He sauntered to his seat of honor across from Brooke. His parents shot him a you-better-behave look before Mr. Monroe cleared his throat and resumed the conversation about the rising stock market.

"So. What took longer than expected?" Brooke questioned, as soon as the adults were deeply engrossed in their own conversation. She watched Jared like a hawk watches its prey. Greta poured Jared seltzer in his empty wine glass.

He didn't say anything, just pretended he didn't hear her.

"Genevieve told me that you're…er… 'familiarizing' yourself with Claire Lyons." Brooke took a dainty sip of her own seltzer. Jared's knuckles turned white as he grasped his fork. "Yeah, I am."

"Well, be a smart boy and stay away from her. I saw you two walking out of the movie theater after school today. Scary movie, huh?" Brooke inquired gently.

"We watched _The Strangers_. Snuck in." Jared's celery-green eyes were narrowed, wondering what Brooke was up to.

"That poor couple. Mutilated and left to die." Brooke said this airily. She stabbed her foie gras over and over again, until the artful presentation the cook had made was a shapeless blob on the gold-edged china plate.

"What. Do. You. Want. Brooke Monroe?" Jared glared at Brooke.

"Nothing," Brooke insisted, her tone innocent. "I just _wish_ for you two to stay away from each other. Because I know something far worse than what happened to the couple. Ever heard of a red card?"

"A red card."

"You play soccer. You know what it means."

"It means you have to sit out. Game over for you." Jared's face drained of its color.

"Exactly. And you don't happen to know that I had a stack of just-ordered red cards available for distribution." Brooke was now smiling like a Cheshire cat.

"Really?"

"Really. And unless Claire stays away from you, and you stay away from her, you two will be the first to get it. Don't force me."

Jared gave her a calm look, celery-green eyes meeting peacock blue. "I'm not forcing you to do anything, Brooke. You're the one that has to make the choice."

Brooke shot him a withering glare. And then she felt it coming up. "Um, excuse me, I have to go to the restroom," she announced to the table, before pushing her chair aside and rushing to the guests' bathroom.

_You've got the last word in this time_, Brooke thought, as she bent over the toilet, her index finger digging into her throat. She retched, and wiped her mouth. _But this is the first and last time you will._

**Yes, Brooke's a bitch. And yes, as the author, I feel sorry for her. **

**- D**


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